


By The Fire of My Heart

by cannibalisticshadows



Series: Scute To Me [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Anthropomorphic Crocodile Mr. Gold, But like more animal like, Creature Fic, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time, Furries and Scalies, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Sex, Misunderstandings, Other, Romance, Rumbelle Monster's Ball, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-12-31 19:22:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21150905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cannibalisticshadows/pseuds/cannibalisticshadows
Summary: (“Crocodile Tears” spin-off!!)Belle and Mr. Gold have a secret. They're in love.The only problem is that Mr. Gold is an 800lb crocodile.





	1. Chapter 1

“…And Beauty and her Beast lived happily ever after.”

A light chorus of little paws and hooves slapping together filled the once silent library. A black and white puppy yipped excitedly as his neighbor, an orange kitten with so much hair it stuck out at every angle out of her overalls, mewed out, “Again! Again, Miss Belle!”

“That’s the second time I’ve read it,” Belle, the very un-fluffy librarian, laughed softly. 

“But you reads it the bestest,” squeaked Grace, a little white rabbit. Beside her, a kid who’s barely begun to sprout his horns, confirmed this with a firm nod of his head. 

The Fur children all begin to chatter and their parents start to flow onto the story time carpet to collect their offspring. Jefferson, his long brown ears flopping under his hat as he scoops his kit up, hops over to Belle with a big buck-toothed grin, his whiskers twitching. 

“All Gracie talks about these days are your story times.”

“Well, I do believe I enjoy it as much as them,” the librarian says coyly as she closes her big book of fairytales. She looks at the red-eyed kit that beams back at her. “I was really exited to see you here, today, Grace! Come again Thursday, alright?”

“Oh, if the snow doesn’t hit by then,” mentioned a mother raccoon as she helped her own kit into a jacket, their shiny black claws clicking against the floors as they step into their winter booties. “The weather report said a big one was headed this way.” 

Jefferson tilts his head, helping Grace into her own jacket like the rest of the parents. “Shi—shoot, really? Well, I guess we’ll just make snow bunnies, won’t we Gracie?” His daughter giggled.

The clock above the library rung with the fourth hour, and steadily the crowd of Furs begun to leave the building, out into the chilly winter winds which ruffled tails and fluffy cheeks. Jefferson and his pink-nosed daughter were the last the go. Soon enough the only one left in the library was the petite librarian. 

Belle French had been Storybrooke’s sole librarian for nearly a year now. It was a good job, and she had her own place above the library. Though the pay wasn’t great, her job was important, especially with her long nimble fingers that were useful in a world owned by her own kind, in a town with people who’s fingers were either too long or too thick or too immobile. She was, after all, the only female Skin. 

It was a man-eat-dog world out there, as they say. Yet in the impossibly tiny and secluded town of Storybrooke, over 90% of the population was dominated by Furs--walking, equally sentient beings called _Homo animalias_ that had been struggling to survive along side the governing species _Homo sapiens_, aka Skins, since history had been first recorded. She, as the only woman Skin, saw the other few Skins only rarely. There was her friend Will who worked at the garage with Bill the mouse, but otherwise other Skins didn’t cross paths with her much.

With her running the library, Belle was able to provide the Furs in Storybrooke with books—her job was to print books out on larger scales with paper in protective sheets. This way all the dogs and some felines, and other clawed mammals could enjoy reading without damaging the pages. And, story time on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 4:15-5:00 for all the puppies and kittens and cubs and kits that trotted about on little hooves and paws. They often ogled the young Skin librarian, seeing her “horse teeth” and “monkey face” and “furless body” and “unnaturally straight legs” and “big flat alien feet”. How unflattering, Belle laughed, but it was the best description they had for her, in a town where so few Skins came.

Belle sipped a cup of hot chocolate as she locked up the library doors from within. She leaned against the doorframe and looked out onto the towns activity. People were slowly working their way home, some along or in-paw with a family member or mate. _Mate_. Such a silly, archaic word to call the animalias who were in a romantic bond with another. But it was the proper word, whereas Skins like herself just had the boyfriend or girlfriend, or spouse statues. They didn’t seem to view the word as discriminatory. Furs didn’t marry much, the term “mate” was enough, and they did get some legal benefits when the proper documents were signed to say so. 

She watched the Furs begin to thin out on the street, and the sun just barely begin to set. It was already getting colder, and scarves flowed in the wind, someone’s hat flew off. She gasped softly, seeing a familiar pair of orange curly ears flop about as Dr. Hopper barked in alarm as his cap seemed to run away from its owner. His friend, the black-spotted Dalmation Mr. Pongo, laughed in hysterics at his fellow canine, slapping his boney knees of his bowlegs. All the Furs had legs so very different than hers. Though she had lived here for nearly a year, even their hands fascinated her. All of them so different—her other good friend Sheriff Graham the wolf had such nice heavy paws, his fingers—or hand-toes—flexed and functioned just as efficiently as her own fingers, yet so very alien as well. 

Yawning, and wishing she hadn’t stayed out so late because of the mayor’s banquet last night, Belle manages to smile excitedly because she gets to see her beau tonight.

Pulling away from the library’s entrance, Belle goes to made tea in her little break room. She puts the kettle on and brings out her best tea ware, which sat on an antique silver tray—a treasured gift. Among the delicate teacups sat one with a slight difference. The golden rim and its dainty floral design did nothing to draw attention away from the chip at the rim. Yet the petite woman smiles and runs her thumb over the chip, careful not to cut herself. She places it on the table, pleased with the sight.

_”I’m sorry, it’s chipped…”_

_”It’s just a cup, dearie._

With the tea almost ready, she fiddles with the thermostat to raise the temp. Soon the small library was toasty and warm enough for her to take off her knitted gray cardigan and drop it across her chair. 

Just as she was opening the little fridge to take out the milk, she suddenly realizes she’s not alone. 

Belle freezes. The hairs on the back of her neck prickle, and she knows she’s being watched. Something like heavy claws scrape along the tile floor, and something very heavy and thick drags along with a soft tap of a cane. A very soft, rumbling growl breaks the overall silence besides the bubbling in the tea kettle. _”Belle,”_ hisses the mighty predator at her door.

Belle breaks into a wide smile that seems to reach ear-to-ear. Forgoing the milk, she turns to her visitor, and runs to wrap her arms around a thick, ridgy neck.

“Rum! You’re early!”

A long, tired sigh responds to her greeting, and Rum Gold awkwardly pats his hand along her back in a loose one-armed hug. “It is winter, my dear… These old bones of mine are not as they were.”

“Oh, you act as if you’re a hundred and fifty!” She playfully shoves his low, small shoulders, and steps back to place a kiss on the tip of his snout. Her twinkling blue eyes regard her unlikely companion with merit. 

Mr. Gold was the only one of his kind in Storybrooke. Compared to the Furs in town, he was a true beast. Yet, at least this beast was smartly dressed. He was clad impeccably in his expertly, expensively, tailored Armani suit. The stark-white dress shirt beneath his suit looked out of place next around his thick neck, his scutes visible beneath the close-fitting cut of his clothes. His skin consisted of dark mottled shades of greens and grays, and little pigmented dots on each of his smooth, reptilian scales. Each of them so sensitive to the slightest touch. His skin was much paler beneath his long jaw and paunchy throat.

Though his arms and legs were shorter than Belle’s, the length of his body granted him height. Standing toe-to-claw with him, Belle’s head reached where his collarbone should be. His arms could encase her body, but just barely. He could touch the tip of his snout, but only if he curved his form into a C shape. Despite slowly moving on his squat legs, and his long heavy tail seemingly weighing him down, he was without a doubt the strongest person in all of Storybrooke—in all of the tristate area. Yet he demonstrated that very rarely. He was always gentle, always quiet. Yet still when he walked by in town, everyone trembled in fright. Everyone but the librarian. 

Bronze reptilian eyes watched her under leathery hooded lids.

“If I reach the age of a hundred and fifty,” Gold rumbles, “I’ll be sure to invite your gaggle of grandchildren to the party.”

Belle chuckles, and sits down across from her scaly friend as they sit for tea. The chair groans under the crocodile’s weight as he hops up on the chair that is a bit higher than his legs. Setting the chipped cup of tea before him, she teases, “And who says I’ll have a _gaggle_ of grandchildren?”

His whiteness eyes regard her seriously. “You’re young, healthy, and lovely. I’m sure you’re children will be just the same.”

Momentarily forgetting his statement that she’ll even have biological children one day, she’s busy swooning over the fact he called her _lovely_. 

That had to be the first time he had ever complimented her about her looks, in all the months they had been friends… In all the weeks he had been officially—secretively—courting her.

The first time Belle French meet the notorious Mr. Gold was at the beginning of Spring that year. She had already become familiar with the landlord, through emails and the town gossip and his hired help. Dove did all of Mr. Gold’s footwork when the crocodile could not. Mr. Gold was quite athletic for a croc with a limp, but he did not leave his home at all when snow blanketed the ground. She had seen the windows of his salmon-pink Victorian glow softly with light, but only when the last of the winter snow had melted did he emerge from his hibernation. 

Mr. Gold was the sole landlord (and the only local lawyer), working closely with Mayor Mills and other notable figures in town. When Belle took on the librarian job, she learned that since this was a public building (excluding her flat above) it was owned by the State, so to speak, or by the mayor. She was paid for her job of handling the books, making them usable to the Furs, and overall housekeeping. The flat came with the job, so she didn’t have to pay rent, but if she were to quit she would need to move out. Yet, Gold was still the landlord and if she had problems with anything in the building, library or flat, Mills instructed Belle to report to Gold. 

She had heard of the others speak of him in fear, and she supposed he might have been an unusually large carnivore or Fur-prejudice Skin. Instead, when Gold first stepped into the library on that early Spring morning, she found him not to be a Fur or Skin. But a _Scaly_.

“Scaly” or “Scalies” were slang for reptiles—or sometimes referred as the cold-blooded ones. Though Skins and Furs had always had their differences here and there, the majority of sentient mammals seemed to have a mutual distain for reptiles. 

For one, they were cold blooded, often compared to being cold-hearted. Secondly, it had a psychological reason; Reptiles did not have the typical response to young offspring—no nursing babes, nurturing mothers, or big woeful eyes of toddlers that chirped for mothers. Reptilian young came into the world by eggs, and needed no milk. Some already able to fend for themselves, needing little help. Because of how different reptiles were from mammals, they tended to live in the lower classes and deep poverty. Females tended to be aloof and cold, especially mature females from loosing so many eggs. Males were often hostile and territorial, avoiding other males at all costs. And crocodilian species were the _worst_. They had the highest crime rate amongst all the species. Gators and other crocodilian races were a _bit_ more laid back, but crocodiles… aggressive, territorial, blood thirty… any sociology class said so. They were the most ill-tempered, dangerous sentient species of all. 

But when Belle met Gold… he was none of those things. 

Sure, Gold was so very different than the Furs in Storybrooke. Leathery reptilian scales, sharp scutes all along his back and tail. Webbed, sharp fingers and toes. Not even his need for his cane made anyone less nervous when they set their gaze along his long scarred face, and all those rows of terrible sharp teeth, crooked and uneven and all on display. If he were to embrace her and lay his head vertical along her back, the tip of his snout would reach the small of her back. He seemed huge next to her, and he was, but for his age his size was a bit on the small size, for a male croc.

Instead of trying to assert his dominance over the petite human female on first meetings, Gold politely introduced himself and gently shook her hand, bellying his immense strength. In all the times she had spoken to him henceforth, he was the perfect gentleman. She wanted to know how he had became so well-off, how he got into law, how he came to live in Maine where winters were a bit too harsh for a cold-blood like him. She kept her mouth shut, though her curiosity seeped. Unable to stay away from the notorious man, Belle begun to seek him out. He owned a pawn shop near by. Soon enough she started to visit the crocodile, and they quickly hit it off in deep conversations on various things, like books, movies, antiques, history, philosophy, sociology… Eventually, he begun visit her in the evenings, and they would have tea together.

Seven months ago when she was visiting her scaly friend in his shop, he had said something especially witty. She was charmed. Without thought, she laughed and leaned over and placed a kiss on the side of his jaw. It was until she sat back down did she register what she had done, and how he seemed to lock up after her lips made contact with his cool skin. It might have been wrong, no matter how chaste the kiss was, but Belle found that she didn’t give a rat’s ass about the interspecies taboo that was marred all over that one little peck on the snoot.

And Belle made a habit out of it. Often. In all their private little teatimes over books and conversations, she graced his scaly face with a light press of her lips when one of them prepared to leave. 

It wasn’t more than five months that he begun to… reciprocate. He gifted her with things. Rare books, intricate bookmarks. Interesting novelties. Pretty little bobbles. Flowers. Flowers that, she suspected, where from his own garden, because the florist in town did not have roses as lovely as his. He begun to invite her for lunch, hidden away in the back of his shop. He never ate—he never ate in public as far as she knew—but he seemed to take pleasure in watching her eat his cooking. It was after these precious little moments did he start to nuzzle his snout against her in someway. Her hand, her forehead, her shoulder, her cheek, her nose - which she would smile and nuzzle back. 

It finally occurred to her that they were _dating_, after sharing all these face rubs.

And she was positively overjoyed by such a fact. 

_”Mr. Gold, just what are you doing?” She laughed breathily one day after her crocodile softly nudged her shoulder with his snout, his beloved never in danger of being harmed by his great teeth._

_“I believe,” he said, taking out a bright red rose from behind his back, the stem blending in with his reptilian claws, the bright scarlet petals stark in the pawn shop’s lighting. “I am trying to court you… if you’ll have me?”_

Oh, yes, their relationship was so very taboo but she was ecstatic by his admittance, and responded that day by throwing her arms around his thick neck, her face buried against the soft, cool paunchiness of his throat. Since then there was more meaning behind their touches. Her kisses lingered, his caresses meaningful. Though fully caught up in the other and their blossoming affection, both knew that the townsfolk would not respond well if they knew their highly regarded librarian was amorous with the cold-blooded beast of Storybrooke. 

She, it seemed, was one of the few, if not the only one, to know Mr. Gold was not cold-_hearted_. 

Mr. Gold pulls out the plastic bag he had been carrying, and places it on the table. “It’s a chowder stew, tonight. I apologize it’s so simple, but it is very filling…”

“Oh, I’m happy with everything you make,” she reassured him, opening the carefully stored package inside, and feeling her mouth water when she opens the canteen of hearty soup. Gold was an excellent cook. 

The corners of his mouth turn upward. “I see you’re trying to butter me up, Miss French. Is there something you’re after?”

Feigning offense, she places a hand over her heart. “Can I not compliment my boyfriend?”

His head tilts down, eyes avoiding hers. If he were like her, she would bet his face would be bright scarlet. “I am hardly a boy, dearie.”

“Yes, my bad. You’re right—you’re a _man_. Now, stop your yakking and let me try this yummy looking soup!”

~.~.~

Gold liked to watch her eat. 

Belle wasn’t sure why—the again, every sentient species that their own unique way of eating. Skins typically boasted about being the cleanest eaters, especially being able to keep their mouths closed while chewing. But she had seen some other species do that, especially cats, if they tried hard enough. Yet it wasn’t there fault if they were messy eaters. It was just the way there were made. She was sure that was why Gold ate in private. Back in the city, Belle had seen crocodilians eat before—it was an interesting sight, and they were probably the only species to be reprimanded with “don’t sling your food on the ceiling!” in place of “chew with your mouth closed!”. 

But Gold… seemed fascinated when he brought her his cooking, and most of the times he was quiet, no matter if Belle was quiet or talkative. He would all but flat-out stare as she ate, with his hands folded neatly over the golden handle of his cane. He would be so still Belle sometimes thought he was trying to imitate a statue. Or seconds away from lunging at her, but Belle knew he’d never hurt her. 

But today, with the sun setting and the cold rising outside, he twiddled with his claws and avoided her gaze. About ten bites into it and making a positive comment here or there, she found his lack of staring to be unnerving, for once.

“Are you alright, Rum?”

The crocodile’s eyes looked up to her with as much guilt that could be evident on his face. “I am fine, dearie.”

“No, you’ve been acting funny this whole time. Is it the weather?” 

“No, no; no more than usual,” Gold straightened up in his chair, and Belle heard his tail slide along the floor. “I’m just lost in thought.”

“Oh. Well, what are you thinking about?” 

“Children.”

Belle’s spoon hovers over the metal bowl of chowder. Eyes narrowing, she looks up and gives him a hard look. Rum’s earlier comment about her having children had slipped her mind when he called her lovely. 

To be frank, they had only been together for four months, but here he was, making a very off-handed comment about her having her own offspring—which she could not do with Gold. 

“Why?”

“Well,” he sniffs, his snout tilting upward, “one day you’ll go off and meet some strapping young Skin such as yourself.”

Placing her spoon down and wiping her mouth, she finally speaks. “Are you planning on breaking up with me sometime soon?”

Gold jolts in his seat and gives her a wild-eyed look. “No! No, I—“

“Do you have a life-threatening disease?”

“God forbid, Belle! I—“

“Then why are you thinking about us breaking up?”

Gold finally halts in his anxious little dance. Belle refuses to assume anything, but she can’t help but feel slight panic in her heart. 

Gold sighs. “I just… Belle, I can’t offer you the things you want.”

“And what are the things I want?”

Reptilian eyes that once regarded her with a slight sadness, now narrow at her accusingly. “Whatever happened to leaving this little town and seeing the world? And then settling down one day with some other Skin and having a bairn? Adventure? Independence? Or have is my presents here too much on you that you’ve forgotten yourself?”

And then, to her horror, she understands.

“Is this about the banquet yesterday?”

“I believe your words were, ‘To one day leave Storybrooke and see the world’, and ‘Yes, I think I would like to have a son or daughter someday’.”

“I was just answering the mayor’s questions, Rum! I never said anything about being with another man like me! I wasn’t even talking about _moving away_ or leaving y—“ She takes in a shaky breath and, unthinkingly, shoots out her hands to grasp one of his. His smooth scaly skin and sharp fingers cool in her warm palms. “Please don’t tell me you believe I was implying about leaving you! I didn’t mean it like _that_ at all! I—“

“Then how _did_ you mean it?” Gold hisses as he pulls his hand out from her grasp, now glaring at her, and for once Belle feels like she’s in some kind of mortal trouble as she sets her gaze on his open maw. That brief burst of fear in her immediately turns into shame. She’s never had any reason to be afraid of him—he’s always treated her with all the tenderness in his ability, yet now, in their first misunderstanding, she’s almost frightened of him? No better than the sheeple in town who cower before him simply because he’s different? She shakes herself of the notion.

“Rum, I’m not planning on leaving you anytime soon!”

“But you plan on it someday? Was this,” he gestures between them, “just a little fun on the side in your grand scheme of things?”

“No! Stop putting words into my mouth! I hardly have the means to go anyway, on a librarian’s sal—“

“Ooh, I see how it is,” Gold remarks snidely. “Get a couple of airplane tickets from me with your sweet siren kisses?”

Belle gapes at him. _Never_ had he acted like this! Where was her sweet Rum? Who was this vile creature who had replaced him? How quickly he seemed to turn on her at the slightest doubt of her loyalty! “That is _not_ what I meant, and you know it!”

“Do I?”

“Yes! You know how much I lo—like you! I’d never do that to you!”

“How insistent you try to sound…”

Belle shoots up, her chair loudly scrapping backwards. Her cheeks burn red. “Rum Stiltzkin Gold! Just what has gotten into you!?”

Gold smoothly slides off his chair and grips the handle of his cane, no longer glaring at her but looking at her in bittersweetness, like he knew she wasn’t the angel she seemed to be. “If you just wanted a little taste of being with the beast then by all means you can’t say you didn’t get your mouthful—that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? A little adventure? Surely entertaining an old monster like me was enough. What’s your next escapade, dearie? Try to take a mutt’s knot? I’m sure the sheriff will be more than happy to help you with that.”

She slaps him. In a fit of blind rage, she slaps him. Right across the jaw. Which, with his mouth parted open for his throat to emit his vocal abuse, does not give her hand a proper place to knock him into his senses. Rather, her hand strikes his upper jaw, and Belle’s burst of adrenaline does not immediately register the sudden burst of red that forms from her palm. Gold staggers back a little, his eyes wide, and bumps into the table. His teacup falls, and shatters on the floor. 

Bewildered by her own actions, Belle looks at her hand. She’s cut herself up. Jagged cuts by her own doing, and both of them go deathly still as she stares at the palm of her hand. A series of cuts run along her right hand, all having cut through the skin, two on her palm open and bleeding, and one at the prick of her finger. Belle looks up, startled, shocked at how sharp his teeth really are, and horrified at herself that she’d actually tried to hit him.

And Gold is equally at a loss of words, staring in disbelief at her hand as if she’s stabbed _him_. “B—“ He then emits a low, deeply distressed crocodilian sound that breaks the silence, and Belle’s resolve crumbles into ash. Feeling her own eyes begin to water, she stumbles forward and rushes to wrap her arms around him—

_“Hey!”_ Shouts a very unwanted voice, and both parties jolt apart as if they had been caught thieving. 

Will Scarlet stands at the doorway, looking white as a ghost. Beside him is the sleek form of Madam Mills, her shiny black fur still glossy in the low light. The black jaguar flicks her tail to the side, a dark steady gaze on both female human and male croc. “Well, this is quite the surprise… I suppose our reason for being here will have to wait.”

“Call the sheriff,” Will yells, and quickly comes forward to drag Belle away from Mr. Gold, all the while giving the smartly dressed reptile a heartfelt glare. “I fucking knew the whole nice-guy thing was an act, you son of a bitch! Belle, how bad did is—“

“No!” Belle shouts, twisting away from Will, yet she clutches her wrist to her chest, hissing at the sting and the red trickling down her arm. “It was an accident, it’s my fault—“

The mayor steps close, paws on her hips. She regards the crocodile with a heavy look, their silent conversation not going unnoticed by Belle. “Don’t be afraid, my dear. Mr. Gold has no power to control you with here. Gold, I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to finally snap… couldn’t wait to taste a little virgin blood, hmm?”

“He did _not_ hurt me,” Belle insists as blood slowly drips down her arm. “I just—wasn’t careful—“

Gold winces, and Belle regrets her choice of words. It all looks so bad, especially with the reddish hue to some of his upper teeth. Will pulls out his cellphone, and Belle continues to stammer through the tears threatening to pour over that Gold would never hurt her, while trying to keep their true relationship secret—Gold enjoyed his privacy. But to her weeping heart, even as she tries to pry the phone out of Will’s hand, Gold will not meet her head and refuses to speak on his behalf. He does nothing to remove the blood on his teeth. Instead, with the cold reprimands from the mayor and Will’s frantic accusations, Gold closes himself off, abandons his cane with a loud clatter, drops down on all fours, and runs away.

Everything that was left unsaid seemed meaningless now as she cried out for him, only for Gold to ignore her and make his hasty escape.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few days following The Incident in the library, Gold is still ignoring Belle. Determined to fix their relationship, she takes things into her own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna have just two chapters of this???
> 
> But then all this happened and I'm not a terrible fan of writing super long chapters... I hate editing but its easier to spot typos this way. Most of them, at least.
> 
> Anyway smut comes in the next update!

_“—As lovely as this evening is, I’d believe we’d like to hear from our favorite Skin.”_

_Belle, seated between Dr. Hopper and the bored lioness Deputy Swan, dips her head down in a fair blush. Will had no reason to attend such a get-together like this. As such, Belle was the only Skin in the entire Town Hall. Mayor Mills liked to have biyearly banquets such as these here, and all the VIPs were required to attend. Tonight, Belle was dressed in a shimmery green gown and golden dangle earrings. It got the reaction she desired from her beau, and enjoys the way his eyes shifted to her every so often._

_The librarian politely tilts her head toward the chairmans of the evening; the mayor, D. A Spencer, Sheriff Graham, and Mr. Gold. The black jaguar, golden retriever, timber wolf, and crocodile all look to her, with the mayor looking as poised as ever. The great black cat crosses her legs, hands folded in her lap. _

_“Oh, I’m flattered Mayor Mills but I’ve nothing to say, but that I’m proud to say I work here in Storybrooke.”_

_“Don’t be so modest, Miss French,” came Mr. Gold’s croaking, yet saccharine voice, his eyes discreetly looking her up and down. Shivering under his gaze, Belle turns back to the mayor._

_“Belle, I’d like to hear about your future plans—last year you mentioned leaving us one day to see the world?”_

_“Oh, yes,” Belle says dreamily, fiddling with her napkin. “My dreams have always been to leave home one day and see the world. I think it was mostly a yearning for adventure. But home, at least back then, was back in Australia I find adventure here all the time and—”_

_“Yes,” Regina smoothly cuts her off. Her yellow eyes pierce the librarian, not unlike a wild animal would watch pray. “Would you do that alone? Surely a young Skin such as yourself would have a boyfriend… a husband? Children, perhaps? Wouldn’t those things make traveling a little hard? Or do you plan to stay alone?”_

_Belle twists in her chair. She shares a brief look with Gold, but does not hold his unreadable gaze for long before looking back at the mayor. “Well, I would like to have a son or daughter someday, I suppose. But only when I’m—and my partner—is ready, at least. I don’t mean to just go backpacking, either. Having a family seems like the biggest adventure I could have yet.”_

_“What about Will? He’s your age, isn’t he?”_

_“Yes, but he’s just a friend.”_

_“So, one day you’ll go off and take a mate?” The sheriff politely asks._

_Belle bats her eyes, and looks toward Gold, but he’s looking at something in his wine glass. “One day…”_

~.~.~.~

Belle sat in the break room of her flat. On the floor, where the chipped pieces of Mr. Gold’s favorite teacup decorated the tile, she stares at it, knowing with that teacup was the shattered remains of the stronghold of their relationship. She sighs, leaning against the wall, gripping Gold’s abandoned cane in her hands. 

She’d refused to press charges. It was all some horrible, nasty misunderstanding and she was the one that had hit him. He would never hurt her willingly—she knew that. Her right hand throbbed a bit, and she checked the bandages. She’d needed just three stitches in the major cut of her palm, but that was it. The little cuts on her ring finger had already scabbed over. 

Her phone laid beside her, and she lifted it up and dialed Gold’s number for the seventh time that day.

It went unanswered. Again.

Snow begun to fall a day earlier than expected, and only four children showed up for story time today. The parents, and customers throughout the day, all had heard of _“Mr. Gold’s beastly attack”_. Damn them. All of them so eager to believe that the landlord finally had proof against him to cast him from the town, if not thrown into prison immediately. She was insistent to them that it was all an accident, and he had done nothing to her. But most of the people believed what they wanted to believe.

It was Jefferson, surprisingly, who seemed to believe her. He’d mentioned that he was on good terms with Gold, and knew that Gold was not to type to harm a female of any species. _”Why don’t you just go over to see him? Everyone knows where he lives.”_

_”Should I? Would I even be welcome?_”

_”If Gold’s truly your friend as you say, Belle, then he’ll be eager to kiss and make up with you. His friends are far and few._”

Belle stares at his cane. 

If he didn’t answer her the next time she called, she’d go to him. 

~.~.~.~

The Victorian stood as an ominous form in the forest’s clearing. The impeccably designed architecture, doll-house windows, neatly trimmed bushes and grass, and salmon-pink and orange walls did nothing to make it seem any less like the home of Dracula. The dark clouds overhead hung low in the sky, and the sun which sat behind the house cast frightening shadows across the abode. 

Mr. Gold had no neighbors. His house had been build farthest away from town, nestled in the deep forest. His closest neighbor was a whole mile away. As the hooves driver behind the wheel pulls up in the driveway of the Victorian, he turns around and narrows his horizontal pupils on her. “You sure, Miss French?”

“Yes. Thank you, Howard.” She hands him the cash and the goat shakes his head. 

“Your funeral, toots.” He does not wait to see her inside, and the moment Belle steps out with her backpack slung around her shoulder and Gold’s cane in her hand, the driver takes off, as if another moment on Gold’s property would end with him as the beast’s next meal. 

The sun will be setting in less than an hour, but that doesn’t mean anything to Belle. For the past two days she has tried to call Rum to no avail. He has not ventured from his home, nor made any attempt at contacting the young woman.

Soft flakes of snow drifted down from the dark clouded skies, yet the ground was not cold enough for it to stick. Yet, around clusters of trees and leaves sat little mounds of white. It melted against Belle’s face, but her icy exhales and numb nose were not comfortable. Perhaps, looking as cold and as miserable as she was now, Rum would take pity on her and let her inside, no matter how convinced he was she didn’t care about him. 

Inhaling a large breath of determination, Belle marched up the driveway and up the stairs to Mr. Gold’s porch. Her blue eyes scan the house’s windows, which all are dark except one light source on the first floor. She tightens her grip on her backpack. With her other hand, she raises a fist to the front door. With only a moment’s hesitation, Belle brings a mighty series of firm knocks on the door, ignoring the throb of pain in her knuckles. For good measure, she rings the doorbell several times, even though she hears a distant reptilian growl of annoyance from inside. 

The door swings open to the very-much pissed-off glare of one crocodile, bronze eyes piercing her over a long narrow snout. Yet, it only lasts a moment, and as his sight drinks in the sodden and shivering form of the librarian, in her too-short skirt and a well-worn yellow sweater that seemed to be falling apart at the seams. Her backpack slung on one shoulder, her hair littered with flecks of snowflakes and her nose bright red and numb.

“Belle,” he breaths, his head jerking up and down as he took her in. “What are you doing here?”

She raises his cane. He stares at it, then her. 

“Well,” she begins, “you weren’t answering your calls. And I’m not about to wait several months before I see you again… you want this back, right?”

The crocodile blinks dumbly for a moment, before his eyelids droop, and his gaze looks at her bandaged right hand, holding the strap of her backpack. “Oh, Belle,” he sighs, and shuffles back and drags his tail back from the entrance. “Come get out of the cold.”

Sighing in relief, the young librarian bustles inside—relieved he hadn’t cast her away, and to be inside from the harsh weather she was in no way used to. 

When she pulls her pack off her shoulder to sit it on the floor, and leans the cane against the wall, she takes in her surroundings. She’d never been in Gold’s home before. 

The place seemed to scream both, _“I’m wealthy but don’t know what to do with my money,”_ and _“This is a second storage for all my antiques and things”_. There were some couches and love seats laying about in the living room, none of them really matching but all beautifully built from fabrics and hand-carved woods. A grand spinning wheal, fragile pottery, stunning paintings decorated the walls. And a short, heavy coffee table sat in front of an enormous fireplace, which held well-burned logs of wood, sparking only a few dying embers. A single lamp was on, giving Belle and her average human sight limited view of Mr. Gold’s lavish home. There was a very modern kitchen off to the side, and a huge table which only two chairs sat. A gorgeous glass door that must have led to a back porch, and a staircase leading upstairs, an a grand archway off to the side which must have led to a dining room, or maybe another sitting room of sorts. 

What bothers her, though, is that the room is not warm enough for a reptile. 

When she turned to her dear friend, he was closing the door with his head hanging low, and moving quite slowly.

He wore a specially tailored black robe that reached his knees, and loose sweatpants on his short legs. His webbed feet scrapped the wooden floors, and his heavy long tail dragged the ground. When he turned to face her, he could not meet her eyes. But he did stare at her bandaged hand. 

“This wasn’t your fault,” she says, breaking the silence and reaching out her bandaged hand to him. The crocodile flinched, and shuffled backwards from her as if she’d try to hit him again. Feeling her lip almost trembled, she raises both hands to show surrender. Which is embarrassing and ridiculous. 

“Belle,” Gold barely has to open his mouth to speak to her. “What are you doing here?” He asks again.

Belle rushes over to him and wraps her arms around his neck. He tenses and tries to move back, but his movements are sluggish and weak. He was always gentle around her, but whenever she hugged him he didn’t feel as if he’d fall over like this. “I refuse to let things end like that between us. You know how much I care about you.”

He squirms in her arms, and when it becomes apparent she’s not letting go soon, he slumps and goes limp. Sighing, he rests his head on her shoulder. “Do I?”

With a sad, almost weeping inhale, Belle pulls back her arms to cup the more fleshy, supple parts of his neck, forcing him to raises his head, letting her tuck herself under his long jaw. “I… I suppose it’s both our fault. We never talked about the future.”

After a moment of silence, and a bit of her warmth slowly transferring to him through their clothing, he raises a hand and runs his stubby webbed fingers through her long hair. “I was just happy you were even bothering to entertain the _beast_.”

Belle reacts instantly, and pulls back, glaring at him. “You are not a beast. And I sure wasn’t ‘entertaining’ anything with you. Rum, I love you!”

His eyes go wide. “What?”

“You heard me! I was to much of a coward to say it before. I love you, Rum Gold. I loved you for months now. I love the way you always seem to know how I’m feeling. I love the way you look at me when you don’t think I’m aware. I love the way you hold my hand when we’re alone. I love—“ 

Gold shivers and steps back, panting and confused. His eyes are glassy and wild, his hands up in the air as if he was trying to vanish off an hallucination. “Don’t—don’t do that to me. I don’t deserve that. Belle, I _hurt_ you.” 

“I hurt you,” she corrects. “I’m the one that hit you.”

“This,” he hisses, grabbing the wrist of her healing hand, “is the result from my body. Everything about me is a killing machine, Miss French. I am a predator. Make no mistake about that. How many stitches did you need, hmm? How many folks were ready to storm my home with torches and pitchforks?” He drops her wrist, and steps back enough to straighten his face horizontally, and raises his arms out to her. “Look at me, dearie. I’m not your Prince Charming. I’m the beast, make no mistake about that.”

“You—“ Belle was so frustrated she wanted to pull her hair out. “I don’t care. I never wanted Prince Charming anyway. I want you because of who you are in _here_,” she places her hand on his still chest. “What happened that day was a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstand?” He scoffs. “Do you forget how I spoke down on you? You don’t need that in your life. I was—vile.”

“And I forgive you,” she says, going to cup his neck again, making him tilt his head down again for her to get close and still keep eye contact. “Because I _love you._”

Finally something seems to get through his big fat head. The crocodile takes in a large, shaky breath of air. His eyes glint in the low light of the room, and the tears that she had seen glaze over his eyes before now well up around the corners of his eyes, until his third eyelids flashed across his reptilian eyes, and droplets of tears ran down his leathery skin. Feeling her own eyes begin to water, she reaches up and whips his tears away. No one seemed to remember that crocodilian species were the only species besides humans that had the ability to properly cry. No one, besides Belle, seemed to realize how sensitive Mr. Gold’s thick skin was. When she leaned her forehead against his bent head, between his eyes, he shuddered and clumsily reached out to grasp her petite form. His nonhuman hands made her extremely self-conscious, and she hugged his neck for what felt like hours, her heart rapid in her chest, and her breath coming out in pants as she tried not to cry from the emotional damn breaking inside her.

After an uncertain amount of time, Gold let go and stepped back, but Belle refused to let go of his neck. He patted her back awkwardly, letting out a tiny chuckle. “Sweetheart, let’s get you warm.”

Sniffling, she nods and lets go. 

Wordlessly, he shuffles over to where she had dropped her backpack. Picking it up he carefully beckons her over to the couch closest to the fireplace. The cushions are sunk in, and Belle sits down hafhazardly down on the very edge. Mute, and skillfully avoiding the millions of other things they had to address besides her feelings for him, Gold puts more logs into the fireplace and lights a match, tossing it in. Before too long, the fire grows and Belle relishes the feel of heat. Gold shuffles to stand before her, and motions to her backpack. “What’s this, dearie?”

“My things. I’m staying, if you don’t throw me outside.”

His expression is absolutely wounded. “Belle,” he whines. “I wouldn’t—but it’s not proper…”

“I believe we’re past the point of propriety.” 

Defeated, he rubs the side of his jaw, eyes closed. “Alright, alright. Let’s get you, ah, a room. Come with me.” Standing, she follows him to the staircase. Before he walks up, he goes to the thermostat, and to her shock it’s reading 67. He turns it up to twenty more degrees, and as the workings in the house come to life, he beckons her again to follow him. Silently, besides the creak of the stairs under his weight, and his tail dragging behind him, he eventually comes to a door. He motions her inside. 

Inside she sees a made bed that looks untouched, and yet another grand fireplace before the foot of the bed. This room is full of more lovely antiques, but Belle pays little attention to it, and watch as Gold places her pack on the bed. “You can sleep here… I’ll set up a fire before you sleep tonight.”

“Thank you…” 

“Come,” he says ushers her out. “Let’s get some food in you.”

~.~.~.~.~

“Where did you learn to cook like this?” She asks, moments away from moaning at the taste of tender, well-seasoned baked chicken. She gulps down a glass of water, watching from from across the coffee table, where they both sat before the roaring fire. She’d become warm enough to take off her sweater, leaving her in a long sleeved burgundy top. Gold was in the most relaxed state she’d ever seen him—on his belly, lying vertical in front of the fire, and his robe in a pile in Belle’s lap. She was overly fascinated by his bare torso and back, and every inch of her wanted to crawl from behind the coffee table to touch his scutes and thick skin. She’d never seen him in such a state of undress before. But he did keep his sweatpants on, and his tail flickered back and forth on occasion through the tailhole of his bottoms. His short limbs splayed out, sometimes tapping the floor in the quiet of Belle’s eager eating. He did not join her, as usual, saying he’d eaten before she’d arrived. Belle didn’t believe him.

Gold stirred from his place on the floor, and propped himself up on his elbows. “My aunts.”

“Your aunts?”

“Yes. They raised me.”

Belle took the last delicious bite of her chicken before setting her fork and knife down. Instead of purchasing utensils that was built for non-humans, all his cookware was very human. Yet he had no trouble working with it. He did, after all, have ten fingers like her with thumbs, though stubbier. 

“Tell me about your past?”

Her beloved glanced at her over his snout, one “brow” raised. “And learn the monsters secrets?”

“You’re not a monster,” she says hotly.

He sighs and lays his head back down. “What would you like to know? Besides I hatched from an egg like the rest of my kind?”

“Well,” she said, finishing off her water. “What was your childhood like? Your parents? Your education?”

Gold was silent for a moment. At first, she thought she’d hit a very touchy subject for him, and was about to apologize and say it wasn’t any of her business at the moment before he raised himself up on all fours and made his way over to her. 

His body couldn’t have been more than a foot from the ground, with his back legs walking on the toes of his feet, and his fingers splayed out as if he had recently painted his nails and didn’t want to mar the polish. With the heavy drag of his tail, he slowly approaches her and eyes her, then his robe which was dropped around her crossed legs. 

Blinking, but then smiling softly, she relaxes her legs and leans back against the couch, her legs forward. Gold slowly makes his way beside her, and curls himself so that his head his vertical toward her legs, and his body awkwardly against the foot of the couch. She can reach out and touch his ridged back. Upon doing so, he jolts a bit at the foreign touch, evidently just as sensitive on his bulletproof back. Gently feeling and petting his unique skin, Gold settles down and finally begins to speak.

“I never knew my mother long. My siblings didn’t survive past the age of five, either.”

“Oh, Rum, I’m so sorry…”

He shrugs, like it doesn’t matter much to him. “My mother took off when I was four or five. I had two brothers I can remember best—Scotch and Brandy. I think I had a sister, Gin, but she’s… I believe she died earlier. Maybe Mum took her, I don’t know. We were hatched in the slum of the slums of rep’s county, Scotland. The place didn’t even have an official town name. Rotten eggs and lost young wasn’t unusual, Belle. And lots of mothers took off early. When a neighbor found me and Scotch—he was days away from death’s door—I was given off to my Da. Was a right bastard, he was.”

“Did you stay with him long?”

“No, thank goodness. Eventually he kicked me out when I was around seven, maybe eight. Hung around the other orphans, for a time.” He lifts his head to lay down on her legs, to glance back at her a bit. “This was not unusual, Belle. It happens all the time in reptile communities.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” she says fiercely. He sighs and goes to move his head off her, but she halts him with a gentle touch of her fingers on his snout. His eyes close, and he sighs in bliss as her soft fingers stroke his touch-starved scales. 

“Anyway,” he starts up again, and plays idly with the hem of her skirt, “I got it into my head that I could somehow make it in the big city. A caiman decided to travel with me for a bit, until he found a gang of his own kind he went off with. I found myself backpacking the Highlands alone, for a few weeks. Nearly starved myself to death, but I came across a tourist village that had enough pity for a scrawny croc like me to throw a few scraps, before someone decided to call an officer to handle the Scaly kid.

“I spent a few nights in the drunk tank, actually. Best nights of sleep I had since my brothers died. It was warm in there and I got food and water. A bath. And I was _safe_. The people didn’t mind me much because I was just a bairn, but no one called services on me. Being in the jail was actually the best place for me, for a while. Eventually they really couldn’t keep me there forever, and though as nice as they were no one wanted to adopt a Scaly. I might’ve been small then, but I’d get bigger. No one wants a full-grown croc around, not in those parts. I had their brief kindness because I wasn’t quite ten, yet.”

“Bastards.”

He chuckles lightly. “One of the tourist women, an American Skin in her thirties, took a shine to me. She was very kind. A lot like you… Her name was Emily. She told me that in America rep slums were as common as they are in Europe, and they can get better jobs and go to school with Skins and Furs. A regular utopia. And she said she’d always wanted a son, but never got around to it. So, when the chief of police finally had to kick me out, Emily took me with her and I was on the next plane to New York”

“New York? When did you move here?”

“Are you going to let me finish my story or continue with your commentary?”

“Sorry, go on.”

“Emily lived with her sisters, Eleanor and Betsy. They were well within reason to be shocked by me. They lived more out in the country. Few reptiles lived there. I was quite the sight when I started to go to school. I was avoided, and the teachers were all rightly afraid of me. I made good grades, though, so I was left alone most of the time.

“My aunts, as I later called them, taught me at home. Manners, etiquette… how to properly dress myself because walking around, eh,” he motions toward his back. “In the buff was frowned upon, though completely normal in the neighborhood I was born into. I was well-fed and kept warm, more things than any croc could ever ask for. I went to anger-management classes, too. Though I was grateful to them I was hard to handle. My tutors were very harsh on me, but, eventually I evened out. Went to therapy. From the time I was adopted by Emily until I started high school my life was surpassingly average.”

Gold goes quiet for a moment, and Belle starts up her soft petting again, and traces the bumps in his mottled skin, studying all the colors of greens and grays, even shades of bronze. If she stares hard enough she can swear she can find little flecks of gold in his skin. Suddenly he lets out a big sigh, and Belle pats the side of his neck.

“The sisters’ surname was Gold. 'Stiltzkin' was my pre-adopted surname. But before they adopted me, officially, and it’s not like I had a birth certificate or anything. As far as the government is concerned I was born on American soil... I got off the bus one day in my Freshmen year, and came home to find a cop car on the house’s driveway. My aunts had been in a car accident. Emily and Eleanor had died, Betsy survived. Betsy was in the hospital, undergoing emergency surgery.”

“Oh Rum—!“

“Shh,” he soothes. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Betsy was the aunt that liked me least, while Eleanor’s love for me came around eventually. Betsy tended to steer clear of me. I asked Emily why she seemed to hate me, but she assured me Betsy didn’t hate me, and that it wasn’t anything personal. Since Betsy was at that point my legal guardian given the circumstances, I went with the cop to the hospital. My aunts’ lawyer came and told me Emily, as the eldest daughter of the sisters, had inherited the majority of their parents’ wealth. It was entitled to me, not Betsy. When she came around after the surgery, she was… upset by that news. I didn’t really care at the time, she could have the house and money. I didn’t want it, I was only fifteen. And it was hers, for a moment, as my guardian, but when I turned eighteen it would all be mine. 

“When she was well enough to come back home with me, she avoided me. She neglected me. We never got along. She openly blamed me for the accident; Betsy happily told me if it weren’t for me they wouldn’t have been out in the car that day shopping for a cake to surprise me with for my adoption anniversary.”

Belle sniffs, and is surprised to feel the wetness of tears on her cheeks as she wipes her face. Gold raises up on his arms and turns to her more. Seeing her red eyes, he sits up and faces her, cooing soft words and chirping in her hair as he tucks her under his head. She buries her face into his supple neck, feeling each little burst of vocal noises from his throat. The vibrations are soothing. “I’m sorry, it’s just… that’s such a terrible thing for anyone to say! You must realize it wasn’t your fault? Surely you must?”

“I do,” he sighs. “I do now. Logically, I knew it wasn’t my fault then, but… The guilt from that day is an old friend. I had caused more trouble for my aunts before. Before the anger management, I had chewed through a lot of furniture in the house. I broke my first and only bully’s arm—that was a fun day to explain. Not to mention how my aunts’ neighbors openly disapproved of them housing a cold-blood. This was a predominantly Skin county. A few houses away was a couple who were friendly with Emily, and they had a cat maid: Ms. Petrie. She snuck me cookies whenever I had to tag along with Emily. So I was very much the ‘monster’ most of my adolescence. I always have been.”

“I am so sorry you went through that, Rum…”

He shrugs. “I was more blessed than most crocodiles. I’m grateful to them.”

“Yes, Emily and Eleanor sound like good people… What happened with Betsy?”

“Ah. Yes, Aunt Betsy. Almost forgot… I turned eighteen, graduated high school. I got in touch with my lawyer, Emily’s lawyer, about my inheritance. I asked to have four-fifths of the money given to Betsy, along with the house and most of its belongings. I did take the car, though.”

“Four-fifths!?”

“Yes,” he simpers. “She liked to speak badly about me in public, saying that her silly sisters had no idea what a cold-hearted little bastard I really was, and complained that I’d leave her penniless and homeless once I flew the coup. I would have left her everything, but I needed a bit of cash to get me to Harvard.”

“Harvard?”

“I got a scholarship. I was very clever, and my grade point average was--” Gold tilts his head, the corners of his mouth stretched far. “—very high, and I got a lot of attention from visiting college representatives on career days. And they needed a little diversity for political reasons. I made quite a slash in the newspaper headlines, _’First Crocodile To Get Harvard Scholarship’_. I liked law, but my hobby is…” he gestures to the spinning wheel that was mounted above the fireplace. "I minored in history, actually, but I went into law school because I knew I’d make a name for myself.”

“What did Betsy think?”

“I packed my bags the night before I graduated. I left a copy of my acceptance letter on the table and left before she woke up. I graduated, she never showed, took a cab to the lawyer’s, sighed the papers I needed to sigh about giving the majority of Emily’s inheritance to her youngest sister. Went to the bank and withdrew my one-fifth and took a train to Massachusetts. It all happened so quickly Betsy probably didn’t even realize I had left home before the lawyer went to see her.”

“Wow… did she ever contact you after you left home? Or you her?”

“No. Haven’t seen her since the night before I left. Don’t know if she’s still kicking or not, and I don’t care. The only thing I regret is not sticking around long enough to see her reaction that I’d left her with most of it. Probably still living in the same house, though. Vindictive bitch.”

“Rum!”

“What? It’s true.”

“Still… Do you ever think about going back?”

“No. But I wasn’t all honest—I did hear from her, once. In a very short letter. She tried to call me several years ago, it went to voicemail and I wasn’t home.”

“What was it about?”

Gold stares in to the fire for a moment. “A story for another time.” The crocodile turns his head up to a large grandfather clock against the wall. “It’s getting late, sweetheart. You should get to bed.”

“But I want to stay with you,” she says, and leans against him as they sit there by the fire, on the thick Persian carpet. The half-nude crocodile lowers his snout far enough to eye her closely. 

“Little girls need their rest.”

“I’m not so little as all that,” she says, and threads her fingers with his. “And there’s something you need to understand.”

“And what is that?”

“When I said I’d like to have children one day…” he goes very tense, scotches away, and cuts her off before she can finish.

“I understand, Belle. I get it. Our feelings aside we can’t really be together.”

“No,” Belle snaps. “I don’t mean that. I want to be with you for as long as you’ll have me, right? Or have you decided to stop _courting_ me?”

Gold refuses to meet her eyes.

“When I said I’d like children, I don’t mean settling down with my own kind and having biological children, Rum. You can have children in lots of other ways.”

The tiniest spark of hope flickers in his eyes, and he lifts his head up a bit, the tip of his snout almost touching the tip of her nose. 

“There are sperm banks, and adoption. Lots of children out there need homes.”

“Aye… there is that…”

“And egg banks.”

His eyes widen. 

“You’d consider getting _eggs_?”

“Of course. There are so many eggs just dropped off of those places by Scaly mothers who can’t care for them. Some go there and lay the eggs and leave seconds after. A lot of those eggs are crocodilian.”

Gold is so still that Belle thinks she’s almost frightened him off. They hadn’t talked about their future, that was true. Besides his admittance to trying to court her that day months ago, and courting implying the desire to either mate and/or marry her, which also implied a shared future together, they lived in the present. Romantic gestures were shockingly few, most of their time spent hiding from the public eye and having deep conversations over tea. The most intent they had been were the times Belle kissed him. A thing that Gold could not really do. As far as Belle knows, Gold has no desire for children. Maybe he already had…? 

Suddenly Gold leans forward and nuzzles his snout against her, and she smiles happily. She presses her lips against the scared skin right above his front upper teeth, kissing his smooth scales. 

Her croc shudders and presses back, encouraging her affection. Prompted, she places kisses along his upper jaw, her lips occasionally touching his teeth. He sighs and his mouth parts open, and Belle reaches her hands up to cup his long jaw. She kisses around his nostrils, around the top of his snout. She kissed his thin chin, and along the tender parts beneath his jaw. Gold tilts his head up far enough, like a wolf ready to howl at the moon, giving her all the access to the supple flesh beneath his head and jawline. Her nails gently scrape the skin here, and a soft grumble bursts in her crocodile’s chest, powerful enough for her to feel the vibrations. 

With her lips intent on touching every inch of his head, she eventually tilts his head down to return to his snout, and to the firmer, greener parts of his face. As she continues to kiss his face, around the side of his mouth, her eyes closed in equal pleasure, she feels something wide, squishy, and slightly damp against her forehead. She opens her eyes, confused.

With his mouth open, his pink tongue has decided to stick out and lick her hair back. His tongue, much wider than her own, begins to lick softly, like a little puppy, along her own face. Now it’s Belle’s turn to shiver, and she sticks out her own tongue.

This is all very new, and unfamiliar territory for both of them. All of their touches and kisses have been chaste, until now. When her dark-pink, littler tongue touches his much bigger one, she gasps in shock. He grunts, sounding like a dying car motor, and moves his tongue along hers, tasting her as she tasted him. 

His tongue was dry and not warm, and as pale as raw chicken. His tongue completely covered her mouth, pushing her tongue back into its home. Grunting, she retaliates and kisses the tip of his tongue. Gold jolts. She suckles the tender flesh, until he tenses the muscle into a point, letting Belle almost suck the appendage into her mouth like a babe on her mother’s nipple. 

Her heart speeds up. Her limbs go weak, yet her determination to kiss him as best as she can makes her mouth and tongue work fervently with his, chasing the ever-faint taste of baked poultry and spice. He chuffs, the exhale blasting into her face, blowing her hair a bit. Belle sighs and reaches out to grasp his shoulders, kneading his flesh. Her bandages rub against his skin. He chuffs again, grumbles and moans, his tongue trying to feel the inside of her mouth as she kissed and suckled it. As his well-warmed, salivating tongue tried to dominate hers, she grunts and bites him.

He almost pulls his tongue out, but pauses and groans, his hands desperately kneading her thighs. When had he start to touch her? Belle just pants and laved her tongue over his, soothing her little bite.

Eventually he pulls back, his tongue leaving the warmth of his mouth. She whined in protest and tries to follow him, only managing to stumble against his body, her face finding its way to his neck. His head, tilting upward and sighing into the air.

His mouth is a mess of mixed spit, and she smears her reddened, puffy lips against his skin. Her heavy panting slowly makes itself known, and Belle realizes she sounds like she’d just ran a race, yet her both is humming with desperation. She wants to climb Gold’s body like a fucking tree.

Realizing this, she then becomes a bit embarrassed. She’d never done anything like this before, not really. She’d kissed the few boyfriends she’d had in high school and college, but… Nothing like this. Nothing made her feel like she’d had when Gold had his tongue in her mouth. 

“Oh, Rum,” she moans, arranging her body so she can straddle his low hips, arms tight around his neck. She places kisses along his skin, not wanting to stop, yet not know what she wanted. Catching his own breath, yet sounding much more composed than she, Gold wraps his arms around her waist, claws gripping her shirt. 

“Belle, sweetheart,” he breathes. “You gotta stop before I do something I’ll regret.”

“Who says I’ll regret it?”

His grip tightens around her, and Gold shakes his long head and clumsily gets to his feet. 

With her legs around his hips, and his hands gripping her torso, it’s extremely awkward once he gets to his feet. Sighing, she lets go and stumbles down onto her bottom, but Gold helps her up. 

“You should sleep,” he says and guides her to the stairs. “You need to sleep. I’m serious, sweetheart, or I’ll keep you up all night.”

Belle doesn’t want to go to bed, she wants to stay here with Gold by the fire, touching each other and exploring the novelty of the other’s body. She wants to suck on his tongue again and kiss the supple skin of his neck and jaw. She to see what he has beneath his sweatpants. She wants to show him what’s beneath her clothes. 

Yet, he was right. There was still things they needed to talk about, and rushing into an intimate relationship so fast couldn’t be the answer to solve the little problems left between them. 

Even though her body said it was.


End file.
